Breakdown
Chapter Four

Rachel woke up slowly, wincing as she stretched. She was going to have to start demanding hazard pay if she met any more men like 'John'. John was one of Marissa's regular customers, but when he'd heard about the new girl staying with her, he decided to take a break from his routine. John was one of those guys who loved S/M and since he'd been to Marissa's before, he knew how to use her toys and had tried to use them all on Rachel.
Slowly Rachel sat up and checked the night stand. Her $1500 was still sitting where John had left it. It was the best she'd done yet. Two nights ago she'd made only a couple hundred because the guy had wanted nothing but plain, missionary position, "vanilla" sex. Last night had been her night off. Rachel had begun to feel guilty about cutting into Marissa's business by using the bedroom all the time, so she suggested they alternated nights in the bedroom. Rachel enjoyed the evening's rest, but Marissa apparently enjoyed her work too much. Rachel had distinctly heard a man's voice the night before, along with Marissa whimpering and begging him to stop. It had worried Rachel the first time she'd heard Marissa' do that, but by now she'd learned making the woman beg was a common demand from men.
As Rachel pulled clothes out of Marissa's closet, she began making a mental list of what she needed to buy with her money. Clothes. Booze. Food. Drugs. The last two were part of a collective fund both women contributed to. Rachel's booze was separate. Marissa preferred to get her buzz from heroin or whatever drug she had at the moment. With Rachel contributing now, they'd had cocaine, marijuana, LSD and methamphetamine. It had been a wild couple of days and Rachel was just beginning to feel the first twinges of withdrawal. Gotta find more.
Rachel stumbled from the bedroom towards the kitchen. "Hey Marissa," she called as she passed the living room, "we got any shit left?" She pulled her last beer from the refrigerator. Marissa didn't answer.
Rachel gulped from her beer, then looked back into the living room. "Marissa?" The other woman was lying on the couch. Weird, Rachel thought. Marissa was usually up early to satisfy a morning craving. "Hey, Marissa," Rachel said as she went to her friend. She knelt by the couch and prodded Marissa.
Marissa still didn't move.
"Okay, now you're scaring me. Joke's over, Marissa." Rachel shook Marissa hard.
Marissa finally moved. Her head rolled over, moving her hair away from her arm, where a needle was sticking out.
"Shit!" Rachel gasped as she fell backwards. She cautiously went back to Marissa and checked her throat for a pulse. Nothing. Her skin was cool and clammy.
"No," Rachel whispered. "God, no." Frustrated and feeling helpless, Rachel shook Marissa's body forcefully, but of course got no response. It was when she sat back on her heels that Rachel noticed the faint series of small bruises on Marissa's throat.
"What the hell?" Rachel placed her fingers over the purple marks. They were a bit larger than her fingers and spread farther apart, but nothing besides a strangle hold could have caused the marks.
"Why?" Rachel asked. "What did you do, Marissa?"
She brushed back a lock of Marissa's hair, then shuddered when she saw the dark mark around the glassy brown eye. "I've gotta get out of here." Rachel was barely able to contain her panic as she grabbed her money and purse from Marissa's bedroom. She would have grabbed a change of clothes, but she had to get out of that apartment right then or she felt she was likely to have a full blown panic attack.
Rachel ran from the apartment without looking back.

***
Rachel walked the streets with no real destination in mind, just a need to get as far from Marissa's apartment as possible.
Her withdrawal symptoms were getting progressively worse as she walked. The half can of beer she had drunk earlier hadn't even begun to take the edge off. Rachel went into the next grocery store she found and bought the largest bottle of liquor with her fake ID that she could carry easily. She didn't even look at the label until she had ducked down an alley to take a swig and almost spit it out.
"Whiskey. Yuck." It was one of the most vile things Rachel had tasted, but it made her throat tingle rather pleasantly and already her withdrawal was dulled. She figured if she drank enough of the whiskey the pain would be completely deadened until she could buy more drugs. She went farther down the alley and hid behind a pile of empty crates to finish her bottle.
***
Rachel woke later, shivering and with a massive headache. She was curled up between piles of wooden crates, her arm and the empty whiskey bottle serving as her only pillow. She stood up and nearly fainted. Her head was pounding and all of her muscles were screaming at the sudden exertion. She shivered again, but couldn't figure out why. It was only mid afternoon.
"Gotta get help," she muttered to herself, though she wasn't sure what she needed help for. With one hand trailing along the wall for support, Rachel stumbled out of the alley and down the street.
She had no particular destination in mind, and didn't start to register anything as familiar until sundown. By now she could hardly stand due to her shaking knees, and seeing straight wasn't easy either. But through her blurred vision she recognized the seedy apartment buildings around her. She was almost home.
"Home," she said weakly, testing out the word. Did she really have such a place anymore? She kept walking, hoping she'd recognize the next building as her own.
An hour or so after sunset, Rachel couldn't walk anymore. Her feet hurt and her whole body was shaking, almost seizure like. She finally lowered herself to the curb and wrapped her shaking arms around her trembling body, willing the pain to go away, just go away.
"Rachel?"
Rachel slowly lifted her head at the sound of her name.
"Rachel! Oh thank God.
Someone was next to her suddenly and he wrapped her in a strong hug.
"What -"
"God, you're hot. But shivering. How long - Where have - no, never mind. Come on, let's get you inside." The owner of the voice tried to lift Rachel to her feet, but her legs wouldn't support her. She felt strong arms around her again and felt herself lifted into the air.
"Who. . . "
"Sh, don't talk," the voice said. "It's me, Rachel. It's Tobias. We're going home. We're almost there. It's just down the street."
"Home," Rachel said quietly as she drifted off to sleep.
***
Rachel didn't remember much of the next few days. She slept a lot, and when she was awake, she was too tired to do anything but lay in bed, staring at the ceiling mostly. But she was always aware of Tobias next to her bed, gently holding her hand, or helping her drink or eat a little food.
"Why are you still here?" Rachel asked weakly when she had the strength to do more than just lay in bed.
"Because I," Tobias looked away from her face, which had an ugly hand-shaped bruise on one cheek, "I love you."
Rachel smirked slightly. "Love? No one loves me."
She was asleep again before Tobias could argue.
***
After a week of bed rest, Rachel was finally strong enough to start moving around again. The first thing she did on her first trip to the kitchen was open the fridge to look for beer.
"I got rid of all the booze," Tobias said from behind her.
Rachel jumped back. "Why do you think I was looking for that?"
"It was your favorite painkiller," Tobias said sadly, "and I can only imagine the pain you're in right now."
"I'm fine," Rachel said. "I was looking for. . . a snack. Yogurt. Do we have any?"
"I haven't really gone grocery shopping lately. I've been too. . . I've been busy."
"Yeah. Of course. I, um, think I have some money still. I could go get some basic stuff."
"You could get a lot more than that with what I found in your purse."
"You went through my purse?"
"I wanted some kind of clue as to what you'd been doing the last week."
Rachel shook her head, not quite believing this. What happened to quiet, unobtrusive Tobias?
He left before you did, another voice in Rachel's head said. "Okay, fine. I don't want to argue. Can I just have my wallet and my money so I can get stuff?"
"You're in no shape to be going out grocery shopping. And I don't. . . I mean, you're not. . . damn."
"You don't trust me," Rachel finally said.
"I want to Rachel, but I can't."
"Why not?"
"When I found you, you stunk of booze and were dressed like. . . like a hooker. Then I brought you in and saw the bruises everywhere and. . . " he crossed the room and took her left arm. He pulled it out and carefully turned it so they could see the dark marks on the inside of her elbow. "And these."
"So?"
"They're needle tracks, Rachel! Between your clothes and the money and these, I gathered a pretty good idea of what you've been up to this week. And probably every other time you've run away."
Rachel laughed bitterly. "Tobias, you have no idea what it's like out there."
"No, I don't. And you shouldn't, either. This," he shook her arm, "is too much. I love you, Rachel, and I want to trust you. But when you come home in the throes of drug withdrawal, I can't. I just can't."
"Fine then." Rachel jerked her arm away. "Who asked you to trust me? Who asked you to love me? I'm just going to get my stuff and get out of here and you'll never have to worry about trusting me again."
"Rachel, no." Tobias jumped in front of her, blocking the way back to their room. "You're right, no one asked me to love you, but I do. Doesn't that count for something?"
"Without trust, there is no love," Rachel said coldly. She spun around on her heel and marched out of the apartment. "Don't come after me this time," she called over her shoulder just before slamming the door shut.
Tobias grabbed the door knob and twisted it, but didn't open the door. .Why was he always the one chasing after her? He loved her more than anything or anyone on Earth but. . . didn't someone once say that if you loved someone, let her go? Maybe it was time to do that.
He checked the kitchen. His two hours were almost up. And for the first time in a long time, Tobias didn't feel any guilt as he demorphed. He hopped to an open window and flapped out into the cool night air. He hadn't gone flying a long time.